Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Veinte

CAPíTULO VEINTE

Whit gripped my hand and yanked me behind one of the massive boulders piled one on top of the other. The sound of the shot thundered in my ears. Everything had happened so fast I still didn’t know who had fired at us. I tried to picture where we had been standing, where Isadora might have gone. Had she been near us?

“ Keep moving ,” Whit said, pulling me at a run. We dodged around the rocks, pebbles and sand kicking up under my heels.

“What about my sister?” I yelled.

Whit shot me a thoroughly exasperated look before tucking me behind a partially buried doorway. He peered around the edge calmly, his rifle in his hands.

I poked his back, and he grunted. “We can’t leave her. Let’s go—”

“ She’s the one shooting at us,” Whit said through gritted teeth. “Now, quiet. I don’t think your sister knows where we’re hiding.”

“Isadora wouldn’t—”

Whit glared at me, and I fell silent. He motioned for me to look out into the opening, and as I peered around him, I could make out Isadora picking her way through the debris, the gun in her hand still smoking. My stomach lurched. Whit lowered his gun, bent forward, and then straightened, showing me a rock in his fist.

I gasped. “You are not going to throw it at her.”

He rolled his eyes and then threw it in the opposite direction of where we hid. Isadora spun around and shot where she had heard the rock hitting the ground.

“Sisssssster,” she called out in an eerie singsong voice. “Why don’t you come out here and we can have a talk, you and I? Only, let me take care of your brute, first. What you see in him I’ll never understand.”

I stared, riveted, as her expression turned cold and grim. All of her earlier warmth seemed to bleed out of her. I couldn’t make sense of her behavior. She loaded her weapon with quick, efficient movements. It wasn’t just her expression that had changed. No, she seemed like an entirely different person. Her movements were less polished, less perfect, all traces of the lady she had been gone. Now she walked loosely, her steps long and confident. There was nothing prim and dainty about her. She shoved at her long skirt impatiently, kicking the bulk as she prowled the space.

This person was a stranger to me.

Whit aimed his gun at her, and I instinctively reached out, forcing him to lower the barrel.

“No,” I cried out.

Isadora spun again, her gaze unerringly finding mine. I ducked as she fired, and Whit led me out from under the crumbling doorway. My foot caught on an overturned slab of stone, and I tumbled forward, landing hard on my hands and knees. My palms stung, pebbles embedding into the tender flesh.

Isadora laughed, mean and sharp edged. Chills bloomed up and down my arms. I’d never heard her sound like that. She stood not ten paces from me, her gun aimed at my head. Nausea wrapped around me and squeezed. Elvira’s sweet face flew across my mind, her wide eyes, the slackened line of her jaw when she’d died.

“Toss the rifle,” Isadora said to Whit.

He did without hesitation. Then he held out his hand and helped me to my feet. My knees shook as he brushed the pebbles from my hands.

“It will be all right,” he murmured.

“Step away from her,” Isadora demanded.

He did but only moved an arm’s length from me. If I wanted to, I could reach for him and hold on tight. But I kept my arms by my side, fear coating my tongue like acid.

“Why?” I asked, pushing the word out through my cracked lips. “Why turn against us?”

“She was never on our side, Inez,” Whit said in a cool, aloof voice.

Isadora studied me, the soft curves of her face at odds with the hatred steeped in her blue eyes. “I warned you once that you were too trusting, Inez. Too naive to see what had been in front of you all along.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” I said, my anger flaring. “And don’t be condescending to me.” My thoughts blurred as I struggled to undo the tangled knots in my mind. Isadora had set out to fool me. To make me believe we were family.

She took what I longed for the most and twisted it into something ugly.

“You’ve been helping Mamá all along. You have been trying to sabotage us from the beginning,” I said, realization dawning. “You led us straight to those men when we were in Cairo, didn’t you? You were going to let them kill me.”

Isadora remained stone-faced as the accusations piled up against her. I wanted her to defend herself, to tell me it wasn’t true. But she was coldly silent.

“You were the one who whistled in front of the bank,” Whit said bitterly.

Shame worked its way up my throat.

Whit had been trying to warn me all along. But I’d been swallowed up by the death of Elvira, and I had latched on to the one person I shouldn’t have. A venomous snake.

Foolish, foolish mistake.

“We couldn’t allow you to get too close,” Isadora said finally. “Not when we’ve worked so hard and have come so far to get Mamá away from him.”

“Away from who?” I demanded. “Basil Sterling?”

“It was her plan all along to double-cross him, to start her own black market,” Whit said. “You’ve been a part of this from the beginning.”

“Yes,” Isadora said. “She wanted a new life.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Her old one was killing her, and she needed to be free. From the whole lot of you.”

It was as if she’d already pulled the trigger. I took a step back, hunching my shoulders, reeling from Isadora’s words. My mother had been so unhappy she had sought to destroy our life, mine and Papá’s. Actually, she had gone beyond destruction. She’d turned to murder. “Mamá hired those men in the alley to kill me,” I whispered, the horror of it making my eyes burn with hot tears.

If she had done that to me, than she would have had no compunction to do that to my father. It wasn’t until that moment that I really believed my mother had had him killed.

He was gone. Well and truly gone.

“Papa and I are her real family. The one you’ve never been a part of,” she said. “Whit, if you take another step closer to her, I will pull the trigger. Do you understand me, you deplorable miscreant?”

Whit froze, scowling.

“Listen to me,” I said. “Mamá only cares about the money. Otherwise, why would she send you—”

“I sent myself!” Isadora snapped. “Mother has a weakness when it comes to you. It’s the only time I’ve seen her make stupid decisions.”

Hope bloomed in my chest. If my mother hadn’t enlisted Isadora’s help, then she might not know my sister was trying to kill me. “We are family. Surely—”

“You are not my family,” she cried, pressing closer. “Mother left you behind. She picked me . Do you understand? Me! I’m the one she trusts the most; I’m the one she confides in. You she liked to keep in the dark, in a different continent. You’re deluded if you think she cares for you as much as she does for me.” She cocked the gun, her hand steady.

“Inez,” Whit whispered, inching closer to me. “The rifle.”

I didn’t let my eyes flick downward, but I had seen where he had tossed the loaded weapon. It had landed to my left, just ahead of a grouping of rocks.

“Stop moving,” Isadora cried.

I flinched at her enraged tone. “Sister, please—”

“ I’m not your sister ,” Isadora said through clenched teeth. “No matter how many times Mother spoke of you, no matter how much Mother tried to get me to see you that way. I have done everything to be the daughter she always wanted. Did exactly what she wanted, learned how to exist in the world she created with my father. She promised me her old life was over and that I was her whole world now.”

“But then she tried to save Inez over and over again,” Whit said. “Did she often compare you to her? A daughter you could never compete with?”

“You’re trying to make me angry,” Isadora said in a silky voice. “Do you want me to lose control? Make a mistake? I think before I act, you imbecile. What else did Cleopatra show you?”

“Think this through carefully,” I asked. “Do you really believe Mamá would support your actions?”

“Tell me what you know, Inez,” Isadora repeated.

“Do you think she’d love you more if she knew that you were threatening me?” I countered.

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But she can’t love a ghost, can she?”

Whit leapt, shoving me aside as she pulled the trigger.

I landed hard on the ground with a surprised cry. Whit groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. He clutched at his side, blood seeping through his fingers.

“No,” I whispered. “ No .”

“The gun,” Whit said through clenched teeth.

My knees throbbed as I reached for the rifle, but Isadora kicked it out of the way. “Last chance, Inez. Tell me what you saw.”

Desperate, I grabbed a handful of rocks and pebbles and sand and flung it at her. She flinched, blinking rapidly, and I scrambled to my feet as the sound of another shot rent the air. Isadora had missed.

Whit tried to kick her, but she jumped over him, laughing.

“Run,” Whit cried hoarsely. “ Run! ”

My heart tore in two as I stumbled away from him. Isadora came after me, shooting wildly, herding me farther from the entrance to the lighthouse. I ducked as another shot thundered behind me. The crumbling steps were ahead, and I rushed forward, wanting to put as much distance between us as possible. I followed the curve of the wall, finding notches wherever I could to gain purchase as I climbed higher and higher. My heart slammed against my ribs, one bruising beat at a time.

“There’s nowhere for you to go,” Isadora called from behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder, watching in terror as she reloaded her weapon, calmly following in my footsteps.

I stumbled up another few steps, and I let out a sharp cry. So many of them had broken off. Chunks of stone blocked most of the path upward, and I had to pick through the debris while navigating the disappearing staircase. Soon, I’d run out of steps. Sweat dripped down my face. My skirt made it nearly impossible to see what was under my feet, and impatiently, I bent at the waist to grab the fabric.

Another shot rang out.

“So close,” Isadora cooed. “You have nowhere left to go.”

I reached for a rock the size of my palm and threw it at her. She nimbly ducked, her brows pinched tight. She raised her arm but I threw another rock. It smacked her hand as she pulled the trigger, and the gun fell from her grasp, plummeting to the ground below.

I dropped onto the step, pain shooting from my knees at the contact as the shot hurtled over my head. I leaned over the edge of the step, my eyes stinging. We were thirty or so feet from the floor. Whit was crawling forward, clutching his side but looking up at me, frantic.

“ Inez! Watch out!”

Footsteps thundered from somewhere behind me, and I reached for another rock but found none small enough for me to throw. Rough hands grabbed my hair hard, and I screeched. Isadora clawed at my face, nails digging deep.

I tasted blood and dust in my mouth.

She held on to me, hands moving to around my neck. The air became tight in my lungs; I couldn’t get a breath. Panic made my pulse leap, fighting for oxygen. I didn’t want to die. Didn’t want to go like this. Tears streaked down my stinging cheeks as I tried to inhale and inhale.

There was no give. No air.

Black spots crowded my vision. I elbowed Isadora hard—

A loud cracking noise startled us both. The stone under us quaked. Blindly I reached for something I could hold on to, felt Isadora loosen her hold on my neck as the steps crumbled. I inhaled sharply, and then coughed from the effort. My fingers found purchase as my body dropped, legs swinging forward and back as I gripped the ledge. Isadora’s frightened scream rang, at first so close, right in my ear, but then softer as she fell.

The sound of her body hitting the ground went through me. A loud smack, bones breaking, her scream abruptly cut off, as if someone had slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed, tears streaking down my face. My fingers were slick with sweat, digging into the stone, but I felt them slipping. “I can’t hold on!”

“ Inez! ” Whit yelled from below. “The steps are going to give. Let go!”

Terror gripped me. “I can’t. I’m too high!”

I glanced over my shoulder and down below and let out a whimper at the sight of Isadora’s broken body. Whit stood directly beneath me, one hand clutching his side, the other raised high, stained bright red. “I’ll catch you. Inez, I’ll catch you!”

A chunk of the rock gave way, pitching down, and I yelled out a warning.

“ Christ .”

“Whit! Are you all right? Whit!”

He coughed. “I’m all right. Inez, let go. The rest of the staircase has broken off—I can’t climb up to you. Please let go!”

“It’s too high—” I choked out, gasping. Another chunk of the stairs broke off with a thunderous crack. I heard Whit scrambling out of the way and then shuffling back to stand directly beneath me.

“Inez,” Whit said, his voice calm, working against the panic rioting in my chest. “I’ll catch you. Now, let go !”

I squeezed my eyes shut, afraid to trust his words. Afraid that he wouldn’t be there at the end of my fall. That I’d end up like Isadora, sprawled across the stone, staring blankly upward, limbs twisted unnaturally.

“Inez, you are the love of my life,” Whit roared. “I will not lose you now.”

My gaze returned to Whit’s. He stared at me steadily, face tilted upward, arm still outstretched. He nodded, reassuring me. “I’m right here. Please let go.”

I let out a shuddering breath and shut my eyes. I opened my hands and let myself fall. It was only a moment, but it felt like forever. My skirt rippled against my legs. Air whipped around my hair—then the hard collision against Whit, his arms wrapping tight around me as I knocked him into the ground. He rolled us again and again as rocks fell, a lethal downpour of heavy stones. Dust rose around us in a plume.

“Inez,” he whispered hoarsely as he pulled me on top of him, away from the jagged rocks surrounding us. His lips moved against my throat when he spoke again. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

I inhaled deeply, joyous disbelief making it hard to form a word, a thought.

He gently shook me. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“Are we alive?” I managed after a moment.

“Of course. So dramatic.” Whit pushed the hair from out of my face, cradling my cheeks in both hands. “Are you hurt?”

I nodded, my vision blurring. Dust coated his face, and he nodded back. His eyes slid shut and panic stole over me. “Whit. Whit!”

He lay still and unmoving. A deep-red puddle pooled underneath his body.

“Whit!” I screamed. “If you die, I will never forgive you.”

He opened his eyes, dazed and blinking rapidly. “I’m fine. I was just resting.”

Relief made my head spin. If he could talk, then surely it meant he wasn’t injured too badly. He flinched as I scrambled off him. Whit groaned, clutching the right side of his abdomen. Blood stained his blue shirt; his hands were already covered in it.

“You are not fine. We have to get out of here.” Instinctively, I covered both of his hands and pressed down.

He hissed sharply. “Get off, get off, get off.”

“Don’t we have to stop the bleeding?” I cried loudly.

“I have not lost my hearing,” he gasped between breaths. “The ceiling is about to come down on top of us.”

He tried to sit up, his face bleached of all color. I helped him struggle to his feet, his soft groans piercing my heart.

“I have never been shot before,” he said in a marveling tone. “I really don’t like it.”

He tripped, and I dragged one of his arms over my shoulder. “Just a few more feet,” I coaxed. “As quick as you can.”

He glanced up at the sudden noise rending the air. “Where is Isadora?”

I looked over my shoulder. Only her hand was visible underneath all of the rubble. It lay motionless. I shook my head at him, and his lips flattened. The ceiling moaned and cracked as more rocks fell, crashing around us.

“Go. Without me, go,” Whit said, his lips white. “ Go .”

What utter nonsense. I held on tighter, and he seemed to understand that in order to save me, he had to save himself. He looked murderous. But then his expression turned to one of resignation and he allowed me to keep helping him. We managed to fling ourselves out of the entrance, Whit clutching his side while I tugged on his free hand, down the rocky path and toward the moored boat. Behind us, the sound of the rocks crashed and shattered, and the ground shook under our feet. I helped Whit the rest of the way, step by step, his movements unsteady and stumbling.

“Wait, wait,” he said. “I need a minute.”

He fought to keep his breathing steady, but sweat dripped down the sides of his face. His hair lay flat across his brow, and his shoulders were hunched, as if he were trying to protect himself from another blow.

“We have to keep going,” I said, reaching for him. “You need medical attention.”

Whit nodded and allowed me to shepherd him to the boat. I pushed with both hands, and he watched me helplessly as I struggled to get as much of the boat back into the water as I could. I helped him swing his legs over, to which he let out a truly foul string of curses and then dropped inside.

“Face the stern,” he said weakly. “The back of the boat.”

I did as he instructed and then looked at him again for more guidance. I took up the oars, placing them back into the hooks and awkwardly attempted to navigate us back to Alexandria’s coastline. Whit watched me silently, his breathing shallow. “I wish I could help you.”

“Don’t talk,” I said. “Conserve your strength. I’ll get us there.”

He smiled faintly. “I know.”

Then he tipped his head backward, propping it against the opposite bench, and closed his eyes. I was half-terrified that he’d never open them to glare at me again, half-glad that he was actually doing what I asked him to do. My mind replayed Isadora lifting her arm, hand steady and wrapped around the pistol’s handle. Her expression of utter hatred when she pulled the trigger.

Whit had pushed me out of the way. Saved my life.

And he could die because of it.

I clutched the ends of the oars tighter. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

Before long, our boat was almost at the end of the dock—I could just see it as the sun dawned, turning the sky a resplendent gold. He would be all right. Our driver was waiting for us in his carriage. We only had to make it back to the hotel where I could order the staff to find a local physician.

Whit would not die.

He cracked an eye open. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

“Stop talking,” I snapped. The bottom right of his shirt was covered in his blood. It’d never be clean again. “Do you think I should wrap the wound? I could use a petticoat.”

Whit seemed highly amused by this prospect. “Aren’t damsels always providing petticoats when the hero is in dire straits?”

“Aren’t you always telling me that you’re not a hero?” I retorted.

He nodded. “You’re right. I’m not.”

I looked away. I fought hard to remember the moment I learned he had stolen my fortune. It had felt akin to standing on the Philae sandbank, watching as my mother rowed away from me, leaving me behind, taking hundreds of artifacts with her. I had felt enraged and tricked and manipulated.

My mother had left me to my fate.

But Whit had saved mine.

Twice .

He had told me he loved me—but he’d said that to make me jump, surely. Another attempt to manipulate me. I didn’t understand him. Why risk his life for me—a woman who would divorce him? Who, for all he knew, hated him? All this time, I had known that he felt some measure of guilt for what he had done, but not enough to apologize. He had told me himself that he would do the same thing all over again.

However.

Now that he was bleeding, slowly dying in front of me, it was hard to be angry at him. Because somehow, I knew that if he could choose whether or not to save my life, he would jump in front of that bullet for me again.

And again and again and again.

He was being so inconveniently honorable.

I channeled all my fear and anger and frustration into rowing the damn boat.

I paced outside the hotel room, up and down the long corridor. The physician had been inside with Whit for several hours. Only the sound of quiet murmuring broke the silence, and the occasional guest who looked at me curiously, dressed as I was in my widow’s garb that was now dust and torn in places. Three times now, the staff had come by to offer me tea and a lunch of hummus and fresh-cut vegetables, but my stomach roiled at the sight of the food (though I did accept the tea).

Another hour passed with no word.

With every step I took, my imagination wrought turmoil in my mind. The blood on Whit’s shirt. Isadora racing up the stairs after me—and falling. The sight of Isadora’s slim pale hand, the only thing visible from the pile of rocks on top of her slight frame.

She was dead, and I knew that her father would not let me live after this.